


Roadside Attraction

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:36:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2330435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trowa had been hitching for rides since he was a kid, had been picked up by all kinds of people, but never anyone like Duo Maxwell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roadside Attraction

A/n: this is what happens when I spend my lunch breaks surfing tumblr and finding lovely pics of lovely boys. Check out my tumblr for the photo that inspired this.

Warnings: angst, language and sex  
Pairings: 2x3

Roadside Attraction

Trowa should have planned it better, should have kept a closer eye on the gas meter but then, he'd never been keen on meters, on planning and thinking about where he would go next or where he would end up and he wasn't surprised that the tank ran to empty when he was twenty miles past a town, on a shitty two lane highway in the middle of nowhere in Georgia.  
Probably he should have saved enough money to fill up the tank, instead of just the single twenty that had, clearly not been enough.  
With a frustrated sigh, Trowa opened the door of the car and swung his feet out, letting them dangle over the side as he tried to muster the energy to get out of the car and start walking.  
The day had warmed up, so he removed his leather jacket and reached over to the passenger seat to grab his rucksack before finally getting out of the car, closing the driver side door and giving the hood of the Jeep a fond pat before walking away.  
He had never driven a Jeep before, and if this one hadn’t been sitting alone in the Walmart parking lot late at night, the sides open and a spare key in the glove compartment, he wouldn’t have bothered with trying to hotwire it.  
Trowa arranged the rucksack over his shoulder, settling the strap diagonally and then he he dangled his jacket from his right hand, letting it rest on his shoulder and he held out his left hand, his thumb up in the well practiced gesture.  
After two hours his arm had drifted down, to his side and his thumb was just turned out, just a little, and he was on the verge of just finding a tree to sit under and taking the last of the Valium he’d been hanging onto for three days now and just… letting the rest of the day happen.  
Three cars had passed during that time - one a camouflage painted Hummer that hadn’t even slowed down; one a grandmother in a Cadillac who had given him a sympathetic look as she drove past going about twenty miles and hour and Trowa probably could have just jogged alongside and wrenched the door open and climbed in the car but he wasn’t about to do that; and the third had been a semi-truck and he had slowed, had stopped and waited for Trowa to run over to the cab and the driver had looked him over, had sneered and then kept driving and Trowa hadn’t been surprised. The last time a trucker had picked him up had been at least six years ago, when he’d been thinner and smaller and easy prey. He didn’t blame the trucker for driving on, for not being willing to take his chances on a six-foot tall guy who could fight back, even if Trowa didn’t really have any intention of putting up a fight. Sex for a ride was something he was used to, was something he’d been doing since he’d run away from home at the age of thirteen and it was, most of the time, easy enough to just close his eyes, grit his teeth and let it happen, or just lock his jaw open and try his damnedest not to breathe too deeply while he let some stranger fuck his mouth.  
It was late afternoon and Trowa estimated he had walked only seven or eight miles, because he couldn’t be bothered to walk any faster, and it was only the fact that he was thirsty and had nothing to drink that made him decide to leave the Valium for later.   
A car flew past, easily going thirty miles over the speed limit and Trowa barely had the chance to hold out his arm before the car was gone, down the red and around a curve and out of sight, just a blare of music and a ruffling of Trowa’s hair and clothes the only sign it had been there at all.  
Until a few minutes later, when the car was back, a black sedan coming from the other direction now, and the car drove past Trowa and then made a u-turn and continued on, towards Trowa and pulled to a stop.  
Trowa had to arch an eyebrow at the performance, at the more than a little reckless driving.  
The passenger window rolled down and the music that filtered out was a loud roar, Green Day, Trowa recognized, old Green Day and Trowa hadn’t heard that song in years but then it stopped, the radio cut off and Trowa leaned down to look into the window.  
The driver wore black sunglasses, a rumpled black suit, a loose black tie over a white dress shirt and a smirk.  
“Need a ride?”  
Trowa hesitated. What kind of person drove past a hitchhiker and then took the effort to turn back around?  
“Sorry I was going too fast to stop - had to turn around up the road,” the driver continued, his voice a pleasant baritone.”  
Trowa arched an eyebrow at that, at the apology?  
The man tipped his sunglasses down, revealing intense blue eyes that were red-rimmed.  
“You did have your thumb out, right?”  
Trowa nodded.  
“I’m not a serial killer or anything,” the man assured him. “I just… wasn’t really paying attention and I’d be happy to give you a lift if you need one.”  
“Sure.”  
He opened the door and the drive smirked at him and pushed his sunglasses back up, hiding his eyes.  
Trowa set his jacket and rucksack on the floor of the car and climbed in.  
“Duo Maxwell,” the driver said, holding out his hand.  
Trowa shook it.  
“Trowa Barton.”  
Duo waited until Trowa adjusted his seatbelt and then hit the gas again, the car roaring back onto the road.  
“Where ya headed?” Duo asked.  
Trowa shrugged.  
“Nowhere. You?”  
“The fuck away from here,” Duo muttered, then gave Trowa an apologetic look. “Sorry. Seattle.”  
“Seattle - Washington?”  
Duo nodded.  
Trowa looked him over, looked over the car that was almost completely spotless and was clearly a rental and wondered why he was driving across the country.  
“So, when you say nowhere, is that like a figurative existentialist-pessimistic statement or do you literally mean nowhere?”  
“A little of both,” Trowa admitted.  
Duo nodded.  
“Well, just let me know when you want out.”  
Duo reached for the radio dial and turned it back on before reaching for an iPod and pressing play. Green Day once again blared through the sound system and it was really fucking loud, but all the same, Trowa found himself leaning back in his seat and relaxing.  
Duo drove suicidally fast, but the ride was smooth. He took the curves and hills and dips in the road like some kind of stunt driver and seemed to have completely forgotten Trowa was even in the car until Trowa shifted, noticed the crumpled up piece of paper on the floorboard under his rucksack and picked it up and smoothed it out.  
It was some kind of program, just one page, with a cross on the front and some text.  
Solo Maxwell  
1985-2014  
Trowa frowned and turned it over, saw the passage from the Bible and a few names and psalm titles.  
Maxwell.  
“I’m sorry,” he said when he saw Duo’s attention turned his way.  
Duo’s mouth tightened into a thin line and he took the paper from Trowa, handling it with care despite the fact that he had likely been the one to crumple it up and toss it aside early.  
“Yeah, well…” Duo braced his knee on the steering wheel and used both hands to fold the program and put it into his suit pocket and Trowa found himself actually breathing a sigh of relief when Duo put his hands back on the wheel.  
Duo cleared his throat and turned down the music so that it was no longer at an eardrum shattering volume.  
“Where ya from?” Duo asked.  
“All over,” Trowa said, not trying to dodge the question, just not really knowing how to answer.  
Duo gave him a smirk.  
“Anywhere you like to think of as home?”  
Trowa snorted.  
“No.”  
Duo nodded, as though he understood.  
“You?” Trowa asked, because he didn’t think Duo particularly wanted to talk about himself.  
“Middle of fucking nowhere Georgia is where I’m from,” Duo said and Trowa tried to detect any kind of accent. “But Seattle is home.”  
“You don’t have an accent,” Trowa said.  
Duo chuckled.  
“Yeah, well, I worked my ass off to get rid of it. I spent my childhood getting picked on for my hair, highschool getting picked on for being queer and college getting picked on for being a hick so I sure as shit put in the effort to get rid of that one since I’m not changing the other two things.”  
Trowa found himself smiling at the words, at Duo’s attitude.  
“How was the funeral?”  
Duo’s lips turned down.  
“It was a bunch of assholes crying about a dead guy.”  
“Who was he?”  
“My brother. Only family I had left.” Duo sighed and then shrugged one shoulder. “But he finally made it out of Georgia.” Duo smiled bitterly.   
“That’s something at least,” Trowa murmured. He felt an unfamiliar tug of sympathy. He usually didn’t give a damn about other people, their lives or their problems. He was used to making conversation only to figure out what he needed to know, what buttons to push and what advantages he could take. He wasn’t used to caring.  
“Yep,” Duo agreed with a sigh. “So what do you do when you aren’t heading nowhere?”  
Trowa gave him a look.  
“Whatever I need to.”  
Duo gave a dry chuckle and looked over at Trowa, tipped his sunglasses down again and glanced over Trowa’s threadbare clothes, his eyes lingering on Trowa’s forearms, on the track marks and Trowa resisted the urge to fold his arms.  
“How’s that working out for you?”  
Trowa locked his jaw against the raw feeling of failure that question aroused.  
“What about you? When you aren’t at funerals in the middle of nowhere Georgia?” Trowa turned it around, angrily emphasizing the funeral, Duo’s dead brother and hoping it hurt Duo to think about it.  
“I’m a hospice nurse.”  
Trowa stared at his profile.  
“You take care of people as they die?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Why?” Death was one of the few things that made Trowa uncomfortable. He couldn’t imagine… he couldn’t imagine anyone choosing that kind of job.  
Duo shrugged one shoulder.  
“I wanted to help people, didn’t have the grades to get into med school and I actually enjoy being a nurse and there was a job opening and it pays well.”  
“How many people have died on you?” Trowa had to ask, horrified and fascinated.  
“I don’t keep a running tally,” Duo muttered.   
The sun had slipped below the horizon and Duo removed his glasses and carelessly tossed them into the cupholder between them.  
It was fifteen minutes before Duo spoke again.  
“Twelve,” Duo said, his voice soft.  
“Your brother?” Trowa asked.  
“No. That was… no.” Duo sighed. “We’re about three hours from Chattanooga and I promised myself I wouldn’t spend another night in this fucking state - you got somewhere you want me to let you out before then?”  
Trowa wasn’t too familiar with the geography of northern Georgia, but he felt confident there was absolutely nowhere he wanted to be stuck.  
“Chattanooga sounds good.”  
Duo nodded and he turned the radio back on, ending the conversation between them.

-o-  
“Rise and shine.”  
Trowa shifted, opened his eyes and realized the car had stopped and it was late at night. The car was parked in front of two story motel that looked like it had seen better days.  
He turned his head, saw Duo getting out of the car and he hastily grabbed his bag and jacket and got out of the car as well.  
“Thanks for the lift.”  
Duo looked at him over the hood of the car.  
“Not a problem.” Duo fiddled with his keys for a moment. “You hungry?”  
Trowa shrugged.  
“I’ll be fine.”  
Duo sighed.  
“You don’t have any money?”  
Trowa had panhandled plenty of times, when he was in larger cities he sometimes set up on a street corner and played the flute or juggled for change. But he’d be damned if he admitted to anyone, especially this guy, that he didn’t have any money.  
Duo sighed again.  
“Come on,” he gestured and started to walk away from the car, towards the street and Trowa saw that there was a diner there.   
Trowa’s stomach grumbled and he found himself reluctantly following Duo across the street, jogging to dodge traffic.  
They were seated at a booth with ripped upholstery and Trowa found himself picking at it as Duo looked over the menu.  
A waitress came by and offered them coffee, which they both accepted gratefully.  
“What’s good?” Duo asked with a smile and the waitress looked on the verge of saying something scathing but her gaze caught Duo’s smile, the honest, open tilt of his lips and his tired, red rimmed eyes and she sighed.  
“Country fried steak is the only thing Tom likes to make this late at night,” she said and Duo nodded.  
“Sounds perfect. Tro?”  
It took Trowa a moment to realize Duo was addressing him. He hadn’t been called Tro in years.  
“I’m okay,” he said. The coffee was something, more than he’d had in two days and there were crackers on the table that he could grab.  
Duo rolled his eyes and held up two fingers.  
“We’ll take two of those,” he said and the waitress scribbled something before walking away.  
Trowa glared at Duo.  
Duo glared right back.  
“Chill the fuck out,” Duo muttered. “When’s the last time you even had a real meal?”  
“I don’t need you to feed me,” Trowa said between gritted teeth.  
Duo arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms before leaning onto the table.  
“Sure. You can just do what you need to do and find food later right?”  
“Are you always this annoying?”  
Duo chuckled.  
“Nah. Just when my patients are a pain in the ass.”  
“I’m not your patient,” Trowa pointed out.  
Duo shrugged.  
“Yeah, well…”  
Trowa picked up his coffee, cradling the mug between his hands and looking down at it, away from Duo’s face, from his concern.  
The food was good, and Trowa had to slow down, realizing he was eating too quickly and Duo was watching him with a raised eyebrow again.   
Duo ordered two slices of apple pie as well, as the waitress took away their plates and this was probably the most food Trowa had eaten in one sitting in months and by the time Duo paid the bill Trowa felt full and sleepy and he’d forgotten what it felt like to not be hungry and he didn’t trust this feeling at all.  
Duo hesitated outside the diner, shoved his hands in his pockets and gave Trowa an assessing look.  
“You want a place to sleep tonight?” He asked and gestured at the motel.  
Trowa felt like sighing. He should have known.  
Strangers didn’t just pick him up on the roadside and feed him because they cared. They did it because they wanted something and Duo had said he was queer.  
Trowa considered. He’d already made it out of Georgia, already had a huge meal and he’d managed to snag a handful of crackers on his way out of the diner. He could made do with that, could probably wander downtown and pick a few pockets or find someone willing to pay for a blow job.  
Then again, Trowa had seen the inside of Duo’s wallet when he paid for the meal, the thin stack of twenties and the credit cards and there was also the car.   
Trowa shrugged.  
“Sure.”  
Duo offered him a small smile and what the hell, he wasn’t bad looking, seemed like a decent guy on the whole and he could be some kind of sadist but Trowa doubted it. He smiled back. It wouldn’t be that much of a hardship to let Duo fuck him.  
He waited just outside the lobby while Duo got the room key and then obediently followed him to the hotel room on the second floor.  
The room had the same aged, slightly run down look as the rest of the motel, but the comforters on the two double beds looked clean, the pillows incredibly plump.  
Trowa arched an eyebrow at the beds. Maybe Duo just wanted a quick fuck and Trowa would actually be able to get some sleep. Or maybe the motel only had this room available.  
Duo tossed his bag onto one of the beds and sighed.  
“Fuck, I’m tired.” He scrubbed his face with his hands and stretched before taking off his suit jacket and tossing it carelessly onto the chair and desk against the wall opposite the beds.  
Trowa watched him undress, watched Duo strip down to a pair of tight black briefs and he found himself staring. At Duo’s trim body and the handful of tattoos - a dragon that started on his front right hip and wrapped around to small of his back, two crossed swords over his heart and some kind of celtic knot on his upper right arm.   
No, it wouldn’t be that difficult to let Duo fuck him at all.  
Trowa stripped down while watching where Duo put his clothes, his keys, his wallet.   
Duo looked over at him, noticed Trowa was completely naked and he blushed.  
“Uh…”  
Trowa arched an eyebrow.  
“Sorry,” Duo scratched the bag of his neck and looked away.  
Trowa sighed. He was going to be one of those kinds? The kind of guy who wanted Trowa to do all the work and fine, he supposed he might as well.  
He crossed the room to Duo and Duo looked up at him, eyebrows drawn together in confusion as Trowa leaned down and kissed him.  
Duo’s body was still for a moment, and then he wrapped his arms around Trowa, kissing him back and Trowa would be lying to himself if he didn’t think Duo was sexy, if he didn’t admit that the slide of Duo’s tongue over his own was arousing.  
He reached down to the waistband of Duo’s briefs and tugged them down while reaching for Duo’s cock.  
Duo made a surprised sound in Trowa’s mouth and pulled back.  
“Whoa - uh - Tro -”  
“I’m fine with whatever you want,” Trowa told him and kissed him again.  
Duo pulled away again, pushed Trowa’s hands away from his groin.  
“Um, you don’t - I don’t want anything from you.”  
Trowa frowned.  
“What?”  
“You don’t need to do this. I’m not looking for sex, Trowa. I just… it’s just a bed,” Duo gestured to the other bed in the room. “I mean you’re hot and I’d be flattered if you were interested but… I mean, you’re not, are you?”  
“You gave me a ride, you fed me and now you want me to just sleep in that bed and you don’t want anything from me?” Trowa was having a hard time understanding this.  
“Yeah…” It sounded like Duo was having a hard time understanding Trowa’s lack of understanding.  
“Why?”  
Duo shrugged.  
“Because you need it?”  
Trowa felt unbalanced, slow and full and he knew there had to be some catch, some trap in this.  
Duo sighed and straightened his briefs.  
“Like I said, I’m really tired. All I wanted was to give you a place to stay tonight. I don’t want anything from you. Just… well, I’d take it as a personal favor if you didn’t steal my car tonight.”  
Trowa arched his eyebrow at that. Had he been that obvious?  
“The trunk is full of Solo’s stuff and that’s all I’ve got left of my brother so… if you need it, take all the cash you want from my wallet but just… don’t take the car.”  
Duo’s voice was rough with emotion and Trowa turned away from him and pulled his boxers back on, angry at Duo, at himself.  
Duo turned off the light and Trowa listened to the rustle of fabric as Duo climbed under the blankets on his bed.  
He still felt unbalanced, still felt like this was all going to come back to bite him in the ass, but Trowa crawled into his own bed and jerked the comforter up to his chin.  
He glared up at the ceiling.  
“I’m going to try to make it to Omaha tomorrow,” Duo said after a few minutes of silence.  
Trowa didn’t know why Duo was sharing his travel plans.  
“If you wanted to keep going nowhere in my direction, I don’t mind.”  
Trowa rolled over but it was too dark to see Duo’s face clearly. He could make out the flash of Duo’s eyes, but it was impossible to read his expression.  
“You can’t save me or whatever.”  
Duo snorted.  
“I’m a hospice nurse, Tro. I don’t save people. I take care of them while they die, remember?”  
So what the hell did that say about Trowa?  
“You can go to sleep,” Trowa muttered and rolled over, turned his back towards Duo. “I won’t steal your car.”  
He wasn’t sure yet if he would go with Duo to Omaha, but he could at least promise that much.

-o-

It was supposed to be smutty but then… it wasn’t. I don’t know. I’m strange and broken.  
And now I’m moving on to updates of other things. Never fear!

 

 

-o-  
Looking for more great 2x3 Gundam Wing fanfiction? Make sure you check out Miss Murdered and Amberly in Violet! Two fantastic writers who also have a love affair with Duo and Trowa.


End file.
